


Cocktail

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Vampires, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-20 21:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21063836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis feeds a guest.





	Cocktail

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s slammed against the wall by the force of a daemon, but Ignis’ doesn’t care. His back aches, his skull thumping painfully against the wall, but he knows that vicious sting will soon fade under an avalanche of _pleasure_. He would’ve surrendered anyway. There was no need for the violence. But Ravus has never been a gentle man, and Ignis doesn’t ask for anything better. 

He tilts his head aside. He’s already popped open his collar and pulled it back, exposing the pale white skin along his throat. He wore it open throughout the entire feast, because he knew nothing else that Lucis offered would satisfy the Empire’s ward. He greeted the delegation as demurely as the rest of his king’s retinue. But Ignis goes the extra distance. He satiates his king’s guests far beyond what anyone could ask of him.

Ravus questioned it, once. The first time Ignis offered himself, Ravus thought it some sort of trap. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would _want_ to be devoured. In the Empire, they must herd sacrifices up for him like lambs to the slaughter. In Lucis, those infected with the scourge aren’t treated like beasts.

Ravus acts like one. He crowds Ignis in, hiking him higher up, slotting one knee between his legs and forcing them open. Ignis groans as Ravus’ thigh rubs against him. Ravus’ strong arms wrap fully around him, locking him in place. Ravus’ blunter teeth graze his flesh, and then the sharper ones make their appearance.

Ravus crunches down, and Ignis has to clamp his own hand over his mouth to stifle the scream. It _hurts_. But a second later, it’s deliriously _good_, as the enzymes in Ravus’ saliva spread across his skin and numb the area. They send conflicting signals along his nerves, and his brain gets it crossed—it’s exactly as erotic as it is in books and movies. Ignis squirms, trying to press himself closer to his captor, and moans as Ravus greedily drinks him down. 

Ravus takes several gulps. He probably takes more than he should. Ignis is in no position to stop it. He controls everything else, always planning and working hard to keep his cool, but this is his one chance to shatter it. This is his one sacred moment of submission. He lets himself get swept away in the giddy ecstasy of it. When Ravus rips away, Ignis isn’t ready.

He slumps in Ravus’ arms. Ravus stays sturdy against him, pinning him against the wall. Ravus’ breathing was shallow during the council, almost nonexistent—it’d clearly been too long since he last fed. But now he’s panting hard like any mortal man, and his eyes have lost their redness. 

He looks awkward. He always does afterwards. He’s not as cruel as most think him, though it’s true he’s hardly pleasant. His social skills need work. Ignis is in no condition to teach them. 

After a fair while of hesitation, Ravus gives Ignis a tender kiss. It’s slow and languid, something Ignis thoroughly enjoys despite the coppery taste of his own blood. For a brief moment, Ignis considers inviting Ravus back to his quarters.

But Ravus is already bitter again. Ignis can see it on his face. They’re still at war, and not truly compatible—they only have fleeting moments where they give in to base desires. Ignis has a job to do. Ravus might hate him anyway, like Ravus hates most things even remotely close to Regis. Regis will likely be calling a strategy meeting soon, like they always hold in private during an Imperial delegation’s visit. Ignis should really be there. 

Ravus grunts, out of the blue, “Defect.”

Ignis doesn’t even consider it. He snorts and pushes away, rubbing his neck as he goes to resume his duties.


End file.
